When He Loved Me
by romeocitychicag
Summary: The unintentional prequel to Rick's Death entailing the events that led up to that story.
1. Chapter 1

When He Loved Me

 **Author's Note: I know, this chapter's pathetically short and I'm a hack. But I just wanted to get a start and will post more soon. Inspired by "When He Loved Me" by Audrey Werner. Hope you enjoy anyway.**

Rick knew something was up when Morty said no to the adventure.

"Hey Morty, I need more mega seeds. S'go." Rick poked his head into Morty's ajar door and leaned against the frame, swinging his ship keys around his finger.

"Rick, I have homework." Morty responded, looking up from a notebook and textbook. The teen and his items were lying on his neatly made bed. "Can't you get them yourself?"

"D-do you really think -uuurp!- anyone'll care if your homework gets done? This is reeeal, Morty. You're not gonna find anything like it in a stupid geometry book."

"Um, I-I just-I just need to get this one assignment done. And I've already gone with you before." Morty concluded, returning his attention to his geometry textbook. "I'll come with next time."

"Well, when you get your head out of y-uuurp!-your school's ass, I'll be in the garage." Rick left the room, closing the door behind him.

The fuck's up with the kid, Rick thought to himself. He'd always be enthusiastic about an adventure, but now he's doing homework? That idiot Jerry or something probably forced him to do it. Morty was always submissive, but that made Rick question his grandson's behavior even more, as that obedience applied to him too. Most of the time, anyway.

Bah, kid's probably just being a whiny shit. He'd always had been, and always will. Rick didn't pay too much attention to it.

He sauntered into the garage, swiped the portal gun from his workbench, and produced a green hole which would take him to the dimension with his desired resource.


	2. Chapter 2

It was night in the mega seed dimension, so the sky was shaded navy blue, the stars dotting the expanse. The mega trees' fruit also glowed at night, making them look like a luminescent city from Rick's location. He bounded towards the area.

Once he arrived the bright cluster, he reached out for one of the fruits, but was interrupted by a gentle voice in the distance.

"I sense something is amiss within you."

Great. Those people. They have long antennae on their heads that can sense anything. All they are are nosy bastards who meddle with your lives.

"Look, I-I-I don't want any of your fucking advice, so do me a favor and piss off."

The stranger walked in front of Rick. He wore a black cloak and fedora type hat. When he removed the hat, he revealed his face to be a dark pink with black eyes and the aforementioned antennae. "If you do not believe that I am true, you have nothing to fear. You must believe that I am interested in your best interest."

God, here he goes. "I don't care about your damn honesty! Get out of my way." He pushed the person aside to reach the mega fruit he dropped. He picked it up and cracked it open to retrieve the seed inside.

"Do you feel uncertain?"

"Listen bitch, I'm always sure of what I do." This stranger was pissing Rick off. He felt his temper start to get the best of him.

"You're lying. No one is always certain in their fate."

Lying? Rick's anger suddenly died down to be replaced by thoughts of his previous interaction with Morty. That caused an emotion to quickly climb up Rick, starting at his legs and making him sweat once it reached and tightened his chest. No, this was too much. Rick could handle anything. Just not this. Anything but this.

Rick drove his hand into his lab coat, ripped out his flask, and drained it of any remaining alcohol. He'd forgot to refill it before he left. It was sufficient to take the edge off, but not nearly enough for Rick's standards of numbness.

"Alcohol will not help the situation. You must know that." The stranger intervened.

Rick's anger returned, overpowering the slight numbness the alcohol gave him. "I'm gonna give you the count of fucking three to get out of my face before I start shooting." He produced a small ray gun from his lab coat and aimed it at the pink alien.

"Threatening me isn't going to fix things either."

"Three." Rick fired a ray blast in the stranger's direction, which he dodged.

"My God! Okay, asshole, I'll go now. Sorry I'm just trying to help you!" He returned his hat to his head and dashed into the night.

After he chased off the hypersensitive alien, Rick resumed his collection of the mega seeds. When he finished, the sky had gotten darker. The mega fruits stopped glowing in preparation for the dawn, the stars beginning to fade as well.

What the stranger said popped into Rick's head. The little relief his flask provided him had wore off, leaving him in a sea of his own despair. Rick hated being sober. He retrieved his portal gun, fired a portal into the air, and walked through.


	3. Chapter 3

This is fucking stupid, Rick thought to himself. Stressing out over a dumb kid's response to a request? How idiotic and overdramatic was that? Especially with that dumbass meddler alien elevating the already superfluous concern.

Rick pierced the thick fog of his scrambled thoughts by setting a task that needed to be completed; getting more booze.

Rick dove into a cooler he kept hidden under his workbench and ripped out the first bottle of alcohol he saw from its bed of ice. It was a dark green wine type bottle that held alien hieroglyphic letters on the maroon label. He would have just popped the cork off and started guzzling it down, if he didn't feel the weight change in the glass container.

"The hell?" Rick murmured to himself. He gave the bottle a quick shake. The fluid inside sloshed around quicker than usual. He'd only opened this bottle once, and knew there was more left in it than that.

Was someone drinking his booze behind his back? But that couldn't be the case. Only he knew where his stash was.

Nothing was making sense that night. First, Morty declines an adventure, them he gets pried open by a nosy traveler, now his miracle liquid was getting stolen? Rick wasn't in the mood for figuring it out yet, so he gulped down the remaining alcohol in the bottle, dug out another container of booze, one that held an amber liquid resembling scotch, refilled his flask, then drank the rest of the fluid from that bottle too.

It was late at night in this dimension, so when Rick was ready to go to bed, he tried his best to lightly tread to his room. After he softly closed his door, he threw off his lab coat, not really caring where it landed, and crashed into his cot, it squeaking on impact. Rick put his head down and closed his eyes, trying to simulate sleep until the alcohol and exhaustion finally pulled him into the blissful state of unconsciousness.

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Rick trudged to the coffee pot the next morning. He'd need some caffeine to get through the hangover that appeared from last night's binge. When he found the coffee machine, he pulled out a mug from the adjacent cabinet and reached for the coffee pot only to find his hand making contact with Morty's shirt.

"Morty?" Rick slurred. "I've never seen you here before."

Morty poured his coffee and turned around. On his way to the table, Rick snatched a glance at his grandson's face. He looked like he hadn't slept in days.

Jerry looked up from his newspaper at Morty eating his eggs like a zombie. "Morty, are you okay?"

"Um, yeah." Morty said. "Just a little tired today, I guess."

"Are you getting sick?" Beth asked. She rose from her chair to feel Morty's forehead. "Ugh, you smell horrible."

Morty weakly swatted away his mother's hand. "Mom, I'm fine."

"Unless her father took you out on another adventure last night." Jerry muttered.

"Would everyone just get off my case?" Morty said. "W-why is it such a big deal that I'm a little out of it today?" Morty rested his head on one of his hands, which quickly flew to his mouth before he ran off.

Rick had been separate from the conversation while trying to nurse his hangover. But what he did hear was the sound of loud vomiting coming from the bathroom. His family looked in Rick's direction with a look of accusation.

"Look, I didn't fucking, t-take the k-kid anywhere last night." Rick said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Said he was doing homework."

"Then why is my son throwing up in the toilet?" Jerry shouted.

"The world doesn't revolve around you, Jerry," Rick sneered. "Beth's right. The kid's probably just sick."

"Okay then, he's not going to school today." Beth concluded.

Morty came back to the table and sat down, looking even more tired than before. Much like Rick.


	4. Chapter 4

Rick absentmindedly tinkered with a device he barely started building. It was just a facade, an attempt to fool his family and himself into believing he was busy. That he had other things to worry about.

That couldn't be any less true. Rick was once again thinking about Morty. He was staying in his room, taking a sick day from school after the incident at breakfast. The matter was sticking to him like a tick to his ankle. And Rick wanted that tick gone.

After unpurposefully rescrewing in another bolt for the thousanth time, the scientist pushed the device away from him and set the screwdriver down. He reclined in his chair, got out his flask, and sipped from it while he stared at the ceiling of the garage.

What the fuck was wrong with him? Why couldn't he stop worrying about Morty so much? This aggravated him to no end. Rick recalled how his grandson acted to his family that morning. Why was he all of a suddenly sick? He had used the stomach bug conclusion to deflect badgering from Jerry before, but now Rick was starting to question it. Last night he seemed fine. Wouldn't there have been some kind of predecessor to the sudden bout of sickness? Why couldn't he figure this out?

Rick's frustration, drinking, and head positioning combined to make him feel dizzy looking at the ceiling. He slouched and put his head in his hands. He needed answers. Rick's head cleared at the thought of a solution. An adventure. Morty always opened up to him during adventures. Just take him to some fucked up purge planet and he'll crack like an egg.

Rick rose from his chair, coveted his portal him from its usual place on his workbench, and bounded to Morty's room.

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"Morty, we're going on an adventure." Rick said assertively.

"Rick, really?" Morty whined. He was lying in his bed, an ice pack pressed to his head. "Come on, I feel like crap."

"You're fine." Rick said. He walked to the side of Morty's bed, sidestepping the trash can next to it, and grabbed Morty's arm.

"What are you doing?" Morty asked.

"Morty, stop." Rick tugged his grandson out of bed and started approaching the door to leave.

"Cut it out, Rick!" Morty cried. He resisted his grandfather's grip, but was still weak from his sickness.

"Morty!" Rick shouted. The teen stopped struggling. "I really need you for this one." Rick's voice contained undertones of squeakiness and desperation. Rick cursed under his breath at the sound of his leaking weakness. He retrieved his portal gun, materialized a green hole in front of the two, and dragged his grandson and himself through.

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The pair arrived in the fantasy dimension where Morty led the adventure. The town looked much wealthier and high quality since their previous visit. The buildings were updated and the people milling around were wearing more lavish and expensive clothing.

Rick heard Morty's breath hitch in his throat, which was succeeded by him clinging to his grandfather's lab coat.

"Alright, M-Morty," Rick began. "You get free reign today. We can -uuurp!- find gold, or, slay dragons," He trailed off.

"Why does it have to be here?" Morty asked.

Rick darted his eyes down to examine his petrified grandson. He couldn't miss the pure terror in his eyes or how his knuckles were turning white at how hard he was gripping the clothing.

"Morty, what's wrong with you?"

"Rick, y-you don't-don't know w-what happened here," Morty stuttered.

Rick was pissed off. He was trying to bond with his grandson, not attend a soap opera. "Quit clinging to me and go."

Morty reluctantly let go of the lab coat and followed Rick.


	5. Chapter 5

Due to Morty's inaction, Rick took over the adventure. He led him and his grandson out of the town into the light green rolling countryside. There was a snow white castle in the distance with perfectly molded fuschia spires that exuded authority over the land.

The scenery would have been more appealing if not for the jet black clouds in the sky and howling wind that blew Rick's lab coat into Morty's face, which he pawed at to block it. The omnious color of the atmosphere was reflected by The moat surrounding the castle, causing the water to look polluted. The air was also more humid and electric, the conditions speaking of an incoming storm.

"See that castle over there, Morty?" Rick said, pointing at the beautiful structure. "In the back's a garden with special flowers. They're reeeeal important to my reasearch, Morty." Rick had chosen a simple task for them. Sneak around the back, pick some flowers, and go. Easy.

Morty relaxed at the information provided by Rick. "Th-that's it?" he hesitantly asked. "O-Okay."

He agreed. A step in the right direction. When Rick thought this, he felt a small jolt of irritation. Why was he all of a suddenly hunting for his grandson's approval? He removed his flask from his lab coat and took a swig to douse the anger. "-uuurp!- Let's roll."

Rick and Morty trekked the short distance from their previous position to the moat. The wind, however, was blowing in the opposite direction, and even picked up strength on the way, interfering with their progress.

"This way Morty!" Rick shouted. He had to raise his voice to compete with the wind, which was growing in volume. He guided his grandson and himself to the right of the moat, eventually returning to his original direction to circle the colorless brick castle exterior to reach the garden in the back. The two had to cover their mouths with their arms and make incredibly labored steps to resist the gusts assaulting them.

They rounded the outer walls and an area enclosed by a picket fence the same white as the castle came into view. As they approached it, they observed a rainbow of flowers contained within the zone.

"Is this the garden?" Morty yelled, his yellow shirt billowing in the wind.

"Yep. Just -uuurp!- gotta," Rick contacted the short fence and carefully stepped over it. He, with great effort, turned around and gestured Morty to do the same.

Morty replicated his grandfather's actions and followed him into the castle garden.

The garden was a small patch of land with various flowers that contained hues of red, pink, blue, purple, and yellow that were all meticulously organized by color into their own squares.

Rick wasted no time and began swiftly disconnecting the buds of the flowers from their woody rose like stems and stuffing them into his lab coat. "Hurry Morty. Don't bother with the stems, just get as many as you can carry."

Morty nodded and started collecting the buds of the flowers tickling his ankles, which were the pink ones that resembled tulips and contained berry like growths in their centers.

When both of them couldn't carry any more flower buds, Rick tilted his head in the direction they came, not bothering to use words because of the wind.

Thunder boomed intimidatingly across the sky, signaling that the dormant storm was getting closer.

Right after the clap silenced, a shrill voice erupted, overpowering the roaring of the wind and sky. "What are doing to the flowers!?"

Morty turned around to face a gold blond haired girl who looked as old as Summer pointing a sleek black and purple accented rifle at his head, the tip almost touching his nose.

"Uh, um," Morty was at a loss for words. Rick noticed the interaction and faced the girl. He assumed she was a princess, taking into account her pink and flowing fairy tale attire.

"Look, we just want the flowers, we'll be out of your hair now." Rick yelled, taking out his portal gun to evidence his explanation.

Another clap of thunder resonated with the three on the ground. Lightning was even visible from their location. The princess hesitated before continuing. "I don't care! Those aren't yours! Do you have any idea what could happen if they get into the wrong hands?" She cocked her gun and took a more firm aim at Morty. "Give 'em up or you friend gets it!"

"R-Rick, j-just d-do-do it!" Morty stammered. The princess slowly stepped towards the non royal teen, who took steps back in response. This continued until Morty backed into the picket fence and almost fell over due to the short height.

Rick felt unaltered fear stab at his chest, making it feel tight. The sky also started to drizzle, adding to the cold panic Rick was already feeling. The physical sensation reminded him of when he was getting the mega seeds. But firm defiance to authority won out in Rick's head. "No way, you psycho bitch! It's not my fault your castle has shit security!"

Now it started fully raining, the wind whipping it in their faces and soaking all three of them. She lowered her gun and was about to leave when she halted in her tracks. She turned to face Morty with a predatory smile on her face. "If you won't give in, your friend here needs to come with me!"

She gripped Morty's forearm and tugged him along in her direction back to the castle. "You'll be taken back for questioning and some other," She faltered. "Well, let's call them 'extreme games'."

Morty struggled against her grip, but she cocked her rifle directly at his temples. "Don't even think about it!"

The two marched against the wind and rain, drenching them from head to toe.

Rick felt his temper almost boil over. He scolded himself for his own cockiness at not bringing a ray gun. Rick drove into his coat pockets and scattered the buds, the pigmented petals swirling around in the harsh whirlwind of the cold rain.

The princess looked back at Rick's actions. "Too late now, asshole!"

Rick felt hopeless. There was really nothing he could do, not like this. He had no weapons, and she has a rifle and leverage against him.

"Rick, you can't just let her take me!" Morty pleaded. A lightning bolt hit dangerously close to the garden, charring black the circle of grass where it struck.

There was nothing he could do. In the storm still partially blinded from the lightning and no equipment, Rick was outmatched. He reminded himself of the feeling of the portal gun in his palm, and with shaky hands, rose it to chest level and pressed the trigger to materialize the familiar green hole that would bring him home.

"What are you doing?" Morty shouted. "Are you gonna st-strand me here? Rick!"

Rick couldn't face his grandson. He dropped his trembling arms to his sides, the portal gun still held by his left hand.

"As a bonus," the princess began. "Let's make sure you never come back!"

She cocked her rifle and shot a powerful purple pulse of energy at Morty's grandfather.

"Rick!" Morty shrieked. He used his free arm to shield his eyes from the burst of white light that followed the attack.

When the illumination faded, Morty analyzed the remains. What he found made him weak to his knees and drained the color from his face.

In Rick's place was a small pool of blood, and sitting in the middle was his portal gun.


	6. Chapter 6

Rick crashed to the floor of the garage in the Smith house on Earth after tumbling out of the portal. With a frail body getting paler by the second, he pushed himself up from the ground and stumbled across the room to where his workbench was, even though he wasn't sure how much good it would do.

Rick collapsed to his knees when he made it to the area, and he used a shaky hand to clasp the table and attempt to hoist himself up again, but his grip deteriorated in seconds and he slipped back to the cold floor of the garage.

Rick barely had the strength to turn himself over and stare at the light he left on before he went on the adventure with Morty. Holding his hand over his head was too much effort, so the scientist rested it on his sweaty forehead.

Rick's other hand was clutching his wound. It was large, so he curled his whole arm around it to try to stem the extravagant flow of blood, but to no avail. It burned a white hot pain, as if someone had pressed hot coals to his body. Even though the injury felt hot, Rick was shivering on the cold ground. He felt his heart flutter and pound in his chest, which made breathing more difficult, so he struggled to gulp oxygen from the atmosphere around him.

You were an idiot, Rick thought to himself. You overreacted to your grandson's behavior, and now look at you. He's gone, no portal gun or coordinates, and you're bleeding to death on the ground. Wonderful performance.

Rick's thoughts were starting to slur, his vision was blurring, and his eyelids were threatening to close. The light he was staring at hurt his eyes, but he no longer had the energy to even cover them.

Rick had no strength left to fight. He was so tired. He dragged a weak hand over his abdomen and fished out his flask. He focused his failing vision on the only silver thing in the bright light. After a few tries, he managed to nudge off the cap and brought it to his lips, expecting a slow stream of alcohol to invade his throat. What he got was a dry cough from the surprise. The flask was empty. Rick removed the container from his mouth and found blood on the spout.

Rick tried to set the flask down, but his hand didn't make it to the ground and he dropped it, the container landing with a clang.

This is it, Rick said to himself. This is how I die. He finally gave in to his blurred vision and conflicting temperatures by closing his eyes. He felt his breathing slow down and his heartbeat soothe itself at his remission. He stopped clutching his wound, letting the blood flow out unchecked, painting the garage floor in a sickening scarlet.

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Morty was in too much shock to further defy his captor's actions. He'd obeyed her out of both fear of sharing the fate of his grandfather and the numbness that came with the condition.

She'd pestered him back to the castle and inside through the back door to the dungeon in the catacombs of the luxurious building.

But even though the dungeon was still depressing cobblestone that was only illuminated by a candle attatched to the wall by Morty's cell, it was still very nice, with no visible cracks on the walls or floor, from what Morty could see.

The teen recovered from his shock while sitting cross legged on the dungeon floor, which felt unusually warm, the surprise helping coax Morty out of his numb state. He tried to focus on the sound of the harsh downpour pound against the ceiling, which didn't leak. His shock eventually wore off and he finally allowed himself to think about what just happened.

Morty was in a dungeon awaiting some punishment of unknown brutality, and he had no idea if his grandfather was even alive. He felt a block of hopelessness settle in his chest at his current situation.

Morty rapped his fingers against the hard floor in an attempt to relieve his anxiety, which didn't take effect. He thought about his options. If Rick was alive, the best case would be that he'd have found the planet's coordinates and come there in the car. But the coordinates were only on the portal gun, which was confiscated. Morty also had no clue what these royal strangers were going to do to him. They had talked about a hearing for his sentence, but he didn't know what that would entail.

He heard a wooden door creak open to reveal the princess. Without saying a word, she produced a key from the gold bracelet she was wearing, inserted it into the lock on Morty's cell door, and swung it open. "You are ready to be processed. Come with me." She grabbed his arm and yanked him up from his sitting position.

He dutifully followed her to wherever this sentence was going to happen, too scared to say anything else, and she let go of his arm. "By the way, you can call me Arta."

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The hall where Arta herded him to was very regal, almost ostentatious in looks, with gold and silver ornaments lining the dark wood furniture. The whole room resembled a more flamboyant courtroom. However, sitting in a throne encrusted in precious stones, was a very young looking king, someone who couldn't have been older then 30. He had tan skin and small red horns just tall enough to peek out from his black hair, all an unexpected contrast to Arta's appearance.

"Father, I have brought the offender." Arta announced.

"What crime has he comitted?" The king asked in an authoritative voice.

"Theft on the palace grounds." Arta answered.

The king seemed to contemplate the information given. "I see. Squire, fetch the Book of Trials at once!"

In seconds, a tiny squirrel-esque creature scurried in front of the king and placed a large book with a worn red cover by his feet. After another few seconds, the king glared at his servant. "Why are you doing nothing? Do you expect me to do everything? Open up the book and read the oath, you idiot!"

He stood up from his throne and hit the squire in the cheek, leaving a red mark. Morty gasped at the abuse towards the squirrel. He glanced over at Arta, who's face held a cold state ahead. "Y-Yes, your highness," the squirrel stuttered. He picked up the book, turned it a few pages, and cleared his throat. "By this oath that I shall see to that you know, you are at the mercy of the king's wishes, and must comply to whatever punishment that the royal highness sees fit. Failure to do so will result in immediate execution or another discplinary action the royal highness chooses."

"What's your name?" The king sneered.

"Uh, M-M,"

"You answer when the king asks you a question!" The aggresive princess yelled.

"Morty Smith!" Morty spat.

More silence for a few seconds. The squirrel cleared his throat again. "Do you, Morty Smith, agree to all of the terms the oath states?"

Afraid of what would happen if he didn't comply, Morty spoke. "I-I do."

"Excellent." The king said. "Now let's decide your punishment." He snatched the book from the servant and began leafing through the text. While he decided, Morty stared at the rain falling down from the black sky, which looked warped from the water sliding down the crystal clear window. He saw out of the corner of his eye Arta adjust her hair, which revealed a glimpse of tiny horns on her head similar to her father's, but more maroon colored.

The king flashed a sinister smile and stopped on a page in the book. "Morty Smith, for the act of thievery on palace grounds, you are sentenced to indentured servitude indefinitely." He slammed the book shut with the same hostility he did everything.

"Squire, cuff him and bring him to my room."

"Yes, your highness." The squirrel creeped up behind Morty and the teen felt the cold metal of the handcuffs touch his skin. The servant gestured Morty to follow him into an adjacent hallway, and he obeyed, dread filling Morty's body.

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Out of all that Morty saw of the castle, the king's room was the most impressive. A massive bed sat in the middle coated with blood red sheets and gold laced white pillows. There was a dark wood dresser to the left of the bed with expensive looking trinkets on top of it and two red and gold chairs next to the dresser. The floor was a soft red carpet contrasting with off white walls and a large portrait of the king above his bed.

"Sit in one of those chairs," The servant said, pointing to the two seats Morty noticed earlier. "King Malvada will be with you when he is ready." The squire left, gently closing the door on the way out.

Morty, still handcuffed, padded over to one of the chairs and sat down, sinking into the luxurious red cushion. He looked to the left and noticed a door identical to the one the servant closed before he left. Curiosity overtaking fear, he rose from the chair and pushed the door open.

Morty stepped into the mysterious room, feeling the transition from soft carpet to shiny swirled coffee colored tile. His shoes softly clacked as the teen investigated after he found a light switch and flicked on an amber colored light.

The room was a bathroom. He felt the cool rim of the white sink, looked at all of the various soaps and cleansers lining the shelfs built into the wall by the tub, and even gazed at his reflection in both the mirror and the stainless steel faucet. All of the fixtures were enveloped by a wall painted a darker brown than the floor.

Morty heard footsteps come from the outside of the room, so he hurriedly shut off the light, closed the door, and dashed back to his seat, pretending to stare at the closet door across from him.

King Malvada entered the room, slammed the door behind him, and stood in front of Morty. "Hello, grub."

Remembering Arta's scolding, Morty took a shallow breath. "H-Hello."

"At least you have some manners," King Malvada muttered. He clapped his hands together and produced a fake smile before continuing. "Did Arta tell you about the 'extreme games'?"

"Um, maybe," Morty hesitantly replied.

"That's good," The king approached the other chair next to the teen and say down next to him. He retrieved a key from inside the black sport jacket he was wearing and gently unlocked the handcuffs and removed them from Morty's wrists. An uneasy feeling sprouted in his chest. He inched himself a negligible distance from the king to try to increase his own personal space.

"Tell me Morty," King Malvada said, draping his arm around Morty's shoulders. He tightened. "How do you feel? I want you to be comfortable here, so I would appreciate honesty."

"Uh, I-I f-feel," Morty gulped. He didn't know what this guy wanted from him, but he knew it couldn't be anything good. "Afraid."

Morty saw the king's yellow eyes transform into a concerned expression. "Is it because of what I did to that lazy rodent?" he asked. "Don't worry about that. I only punish the bad servants." He placed his other hand on Morty's lap. Morty recoiled, his previous anxiety blossoming into panic.

"But I trust you'll be good, right?" Morty bolted from his seat, or at least tried to, but King Malvada grabbed his wrist with his large and abnormally warm hand. Morty attempted to shake it off in vain. "G-Get the hell aw-way from me!" he cried.

"Stop it, you little brat!" the king whacked Morty the same way his squire earlier, but that didn't faze Morty. He wasn't going to let the same thing happen again.

Instead, the king pulled Morty toward him, blocked a punch from Morty, and walked the two of them into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

Rick's eyes fluttered open to see a tall rectangle of light in front of him that was even brighter than the lamp. Rick briefly pondered how he wasn't dead yet.

In the middle of the luminous block was a person shaped shadow that melded in with the other colors of the room in Rick's vision.

His eyes were about to close again when he snapped himself awake to hear when the person spoke. "Rick? Is that you? What happened?"

Rick tried to respond, but was too weak to even make a sound.

He heard the person march toward him, even graze his bullet wound, which sent a wave of searing pain through his lanky form.

Rick recoiled at any further touch from the stranger. "That doesn't look good." The person pulled out a phone and clicking was heard.

The last thing Rick remembered before becoming unconscious was the feeling of being in the air and the transition from hard ground to a soft bedding.

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Morty sat in his upscale dungeon cell, his new home, with his arms curled around his legs. He was trembling uncontrollably at the situation that just occured.

He thought it wouldn't happen again. It couldn't have. But it did. And worse. Morty felt completely numb, like his entire body was flash freezed. He couldn't scream or cry even if he tried, even though he probably should.

Morty thought about how he learned the repression. From Rick. He's also the one who left him to get hurt both times. But the teen couldn't feel resentment for his grandfather. He couldn't even feel the anxiety about his condition he held with him.

Morty wanted to feel something. He wanted, even desperately needed, an emotional reaction to his recent trauma. He needed a reminder he was still human, still alive.

Even though the dungeon was well built, Morty found a decent sized piece of cobblestone chipped off from the wall and used one of the jail bars to sharpen it.

This wasn't the first time he'd done this. This was his first method of coping. He knew where it would go, so no one would notice.

When there was a small hill of shaved stone on the ground, Morty decided it was good enough and began utilizing it for its intended purpose.

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Rick slowly awoke to, again, bright lights. But these lights were a more pure, heavenly light than in the garage. Rick also felt much stronger. He could shield his eyes from the brightness without too much difficulty. Maybe this was heaven. Maybe there was a God.

However, Rick's observation was proved wrong when a hospital room came into focus.

He heard a door open and a male in a doctor's jacket approached him. Rick tried to move his other arm, but had to tug on an IV to get it to go anywhere.

"Good, you're awake," The doctor said, retrieving a clipboard from the front of the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Like fucking shit," Rick lied. He didn't even really know why. He just wanted the doctor gone.

"Well, that would be common with the trauma you recieved." The doctor looked behind him at the door he entered from. "You do have visitors. Would you like to see them?"

"Not in the mood," Rick hissed. "Just give me the waiver so I can leave." He started to get breathless at the end of his sentence, proving he was still weak from the injury.

"I wouldn't advise you to do that, Mr. Sanchez," the doctor explained. "You have a serious injury that needs to be attended to, and if-"

"I don't care," Rick interrupted. "I'm gonna leave whether I sign your damn waiver or not."

The doctor shrugged his shoulders. "Very well." He pulled a sheet from the clipboard he was holding and a pen from his jacket. Rick scribbled his name on the paper and shoved it back to the doctor. He stiffly removed the IV from Rick's arm and left the room.

Rick swung his legs over the bed and stepped out. Without whatever painkiller was in that IV, he felt much more sore, and the full reprecussions of his injury sunk in.

He instinctively placed his hand on the wound, which made contact with a soft cotton bandage. He remembered the "visitors". Fuck them. He just needed to get back to the garage, make another portal gun, and find Morty.

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Morty dropped the bloody stone on the ground, which landed with an echoing clack. He lied on the ground, staring into the darkness of his cell. Morty felt so weak, helpless. The king's words and actions kept replaying in his head like a broken record.

Arta burst in and stomped up to Morty's cell in her classic hostile fashion. "Get up. The king needs you again."

Morty felt stiff from fear. He willed his limbs to move, but they refused.

"Fine! Be that way!" She ripped the cell door open and yanked Morty out of his position. He still felt paralyzed from panic.

A loud bang could be heard from farther into the castle. Arta froze in her tracks when the squirrel squire darted in. "Princess! You can't go in, it's too dangerous!"

"Why not?" Arta asked.

"Someone just shot the king!" The servant exclaimed.

Morty was finally able to move. Loud footsteps pounded through the corridor, getting closer as they approached the dungeon.

Arta removed her grip on Morty and dashed out of the room behind the servant. Another loud bang, this time followed by a gruff grunt.

Weakness enveloped Morty when he saw Rick dash into the dungeon. Without saying a word,

his gtandfather aimed his portal gun at the wall, summoned a portal, and pushed Morty in.

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Morty stepped into the garage of his house, heavily breathing.

"That was pretty fucked, w-wasn't it Morty?" Rick said.

"Fucked!?" Morty yelled. "I could've been killed, Rick!"

"Jeez. Morty, relax. We do this all the time. Quit being a baby."

"Shut up Rick!" Morty exclaimed. "This was different. I..." Morty faltered.

"What, Morty?" Rick began. "W-What was so damn traumatizing that you just can't bear to say it?"

Morty clenched his fists and snapped his eyes shut to attempt to block the tears pooling in his eyes, despite a few leaking out. "I-I, uh, um,"

"Spit it out, Mortimer!" Rick shouted. He was pissed that Morty wasn't telling him anything. Too pissed to worry about his deteriorating relationship with his grandson.

"I got raped!" Morty blurted out. He sank to his knees and sobbed in his hands. "And before too! The first time..."

King Jellybean. He'd shot that bastard for a reason. Now some other fuckface did the same thing? It was probably that new king he also killed. How could he have been so stupid?

A slight heavy feeling made itself apparent in Rick's legs, banishing his anger. "Morty,"

"Save it Rick," Morty cried. "You won't help. I have to drink some nights just to make it through the nightmares."

A realization dawned on Rick. That's why he was sick that morning. Why his stash was light. Why he declined in the first place.

"I'm not going on any more adventures with you. My life was better without you." Morty shakily rose from his spot on the floor and exited the garage.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: Last chapter. Pretty heartbreaking stuff. This particular chapter was inspired by the song Ashes of Eden by Breaking Benjamin. Hope you enjoy the chapter. But you might wanna bring tissues.**

Rick slowly paced to the chair by his workbench and sank down. His life was better without him? What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Rick felt confused. Morty was traumatized by all of their adventures? He didn't show it. He guessed his grandson was just a good liar. Good at hiding it, like he was.

Rick pushed it from his mind. Again, the kid was probably just being a baby, like usual. Everything would be back to normal in an hour. Rick scooted his chair to more easily reach his alcohol stash under his workbench. He cracked open the cooler to find only empty glass bottles preserved in a bed of ice.

"Fuck me," Rick cursed to himself. The portal gun he hurriedly fashioned to save Morty was a piece of crap, so he tossed it after they got home. Rick had no other way of getting booze.

He decided to ride it out. He grabbed the contraption he was working on before the disastrous adventure with one hand and a screwdriver with the other. The device was pyramid shaped with a flat top. Rick was working on a hologram type apparatus that could record messages.

The more Rick tried to busy himself with the device, the more he kept thinking about what Morty said. It wouldn't leave his mind. The thoughts about his grandson's words were driving him crazy.

Why was he worrying so much about this? Everything would be fine later, he yelled at himself. Rick willed his brain to repress the thoughts. He began to more aggresively work on his new invention.

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That night, Rick only felt worse. The rest of the family went out for dinner. Rick decided to reject the invitation and ate alone.

Again, Rick stuffed the thoughts and feelings deep inside of himself after he trudged back to the garage. He shoved the device he was tinkering with to the side. That wasn't working to numb his pain.

Rick wasn't used to being sober for this long. His mind was like a dry forest, his recent trauma lightning that struck a brittle tree. The flames of self directed rage and resentment licked at his psyche, lighting up Rick's body with a hot anger.

Why was this so damn important? The scientist couldn't seem to drown out this trivial worry. What the hell was wrong with him? What the hell was wrong with Morty? Why the hell would he steal from him? Why did he lose his shit now?

"Morty," Rick growled under his breath, trying in vain to restrain his bubbling temper. "Why is he such a fucking idiot?" Rick's voice rose to normal volume. He felt like an idiot talking to himself, but he disreguarded it. "Why didn't he just tell me? Why didn't he object? Why didn't he fight like usual?"

Rick's words turned into wispy sounds as he fought against his emotions to speak more. "Why didn't I see it? Why was I so stupid? Why am I so selfish?"

Rick planted his elbows on his workbench and threw his head into his hands. A burning despair pervaded Rick's being. He hated having to deal with such strong emotions. Rick had no way of obtaining any booze, either. He was stuck with his stupid feelings.

His mixture of rage and depression drove him to shove his invention off of the workbench. He wanted that failed distraction out of his sight. It reminded him of how incompetent he was.

Afterwards, Rick regained control of himself and stared at the apparatus tilted on the ground. That was dumb, he thought to himself. The flames of despair were extinguished by the sharp sting of guilt.

Rick screwed his eyes shut in an attempt to ride out the first wave of shame. It always grew duller afterwards. Rick knew that much about guilt after carrying it around in his heart for so long.

However, it didn't this time. With no alcohol to numb the signals, Rick's emotions were crying out to be heard. Pulses of guilt surged through his lanky body, mostly his legs.

His empowered feelings told Rick one thing. He had failed his grandson. He failed Morty. His only friend, the only person who would really put up with him, and albeitedly, understand him, was broken. Because of him.

Rick's shame evolved into a cloud of depression that enveloped him. He lost all of his energy, letting his arms simply hang off of the chair.

Unity's note popped into Rick's head. He couldn't change. She was right. He couldn't change. His brain was a broken record with that statement. Rick felt his throat close up and the corners of his eyes prick with unshed tears. He tried to sniffle as quietly as possible and quickly swiped his eyes to banish the tears. He wasn't going to cry over this.

That promise furthered Unity's words. He was never really able to cry. Another example on how he couldn't change.

With every passing second, Rick slipper further into the dark pit of self loathing he was all to familiar with. He felt suffocated by the hopelessness, even finding physically breathing a little bit harder than normal.

Morty said his life was better without him. He can't change. Morty's life really was better without him. Rick doomed his future. He couldn't do anything with his life when Rick was slowly taking it over. Rick ruined Morty's life.

But not just Morty was better off without him. Everyone was. All Rick did was cheat, lie, steal, kill, destroy. All without a second glance. His emerging humanity was finally punishing him. Rick concluded that the world was better off without him.

Rick reached into a drawer by his workbench and pulled out a small silver pistol. He dragged his finger along the smooth, cool exterior, mock examining it. He checked inside the chamber. One bullet, just like he left it.

Rick's hands uncontrollably trembled as he rose the gun to his open mouth and placed it inside. He felt as if his trigger finger was drained of strength. a small voice in his head whispered to him. Don't let go, don't let go. don't let go.

The voice persuaded Rick to place the gun down on the workbench. He was rapidly blinking tears out of his eyes. The miniscule encouragement he had before swiftly vanished, leaving him with his thoughts once again.

Everyone eventually dies anyway. What does it matter if it's now for him? At least he got to take his own life. Rick tried to convince himself that was the reasoning behind his actions, but his body knew the truth. Rick was going to do it to set his loved ones free. To set Morty free.

Rick reached for the video device he slammed to the ground earlier and clicked it on. A red light signaled that it was recording.

"If you're watching this, it means that I kicked the can." Rick began. He spoke his final words into the device, actually finding some spare alcohol in his flask during the recording, which unfortnately, didn't do much to numb his pain.

Rick turned off the device, grabbed a pad of yellow sticky notes and a black ink pen from the corner of his workbench, and scrawled "To the Smith Family" on it. He stuck the message onto the front of the recorder and set it exactly in the middle of his workbench, not sure why he wanted it so precise.

Rick picked up the gun again and just as shakily as before brought it into his mouth. Tears were streaming down his face as he strugged to apply the necessary pressure in his trigger finger to shoot.

Rick swallowed his fear. Everyone does it at some point. Everyone deserves better than you.

Rick managed to choke out the words "Shine until there's nothing left but you." He slowly pulled the trigger of the pistol in his mouth, splattering blood everywhere and stealing what was left of Rick's life.

 **Author's Note: Want to know what happens next or what Rick's full message was? Go read Rick's Death, the sequel to this story.**


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